Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

“Well, she can’t possibly marry Cousin George,” Fanny repeated. “Not after today revealed her true nature and” she added thoughtfully, “the possibilities that might be nurtured between

her and Mr Patmore—”

“Who needs a wife with at least a thousand a year, and that’s if he’s prepared to be penny-pinching,” Antoinette said, having now transferred her attention to the decoration on her fashionable pink-and-white striped silk gown. “Oh dear, but I do hope Nanny Brown wipes Young George’s nose before she brings him to see me tomorrow, for I have plans.” She sent Fanny a meaningful look, then sighed. “For all that your Katherine is such a hoyden, she is never less than immaculate. I don’t know how she manages it.”

“I’m impressed too by Katherine’s ability to remain pristine, whereas your Young George, who doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, always looks as if he’s been rolling in mud,” Fanny remarked, ready to enjoy her sister’s reaction.

Antoinette threw up her hands, prepared to forgo a mother’s instinct to defend her cub. “Exactly! But we were talking about Miss Montrose.”

“And Mr Patmore. I can’t imagine why Miss Montrose agreed to marry Cousin George, or even persists when I was quite open about what she was letting herself into.” Fanny stood up and began to pace, nibbling on her little finger. “It’s almost as if she’s punishing herself for something.” She stopped before the window and put her head on one side. “Do you suppose there’s been someone in her past whom she once loved, but when she couldn’t have him, she’s decided she must live either like a nun or with a man she knows she can’t love?”

“Well, to know George Bramley is to know one cannot love him.” Antoinette sniffed. “One would certainly want to live like a nun if one were married to him, but I don’t think that would go down very well.”

Fanny slid her sister a narrow-eyed look. “Pity you didn’t deduce these important facts about him before it was too late, Antoinette.”

Not surprisingly, Antoinette bridled in her usual decorative way. “I’d say it was just as well I did; otherwise I’d never be married to darling Quamby.”

From her post at the window, Fanny sent her an arch look. “You forget, dearest, that Quamby offered for me first!”

“Yes, of course, and that’s finally when your darling Fenton decided you were sufficiently up to the mark to make you his wife, when before he was quite happy to have made you his mistress,” said Antoinette, all innocence. “Oh, sorry, Fenton; I forgot you were lurking in the shadows over there.”

“No offence taken,” came his disembodied voice, and when Fanny turned, she saw her husband was now scanning a newssheet from a large armchair in the shadows at the other end of the room. He caught her eye, and immediately her insides responded to the desire she heard in his voice as he growled, “However, I do think, sister-in-law, that we’ve listened to you long enough, and it’s time I marched my irresistible wife off to bed before she makes any more wild speculations about poor Miss Montrose. I really don’t think I can stomach a repeat of the matchmaking that nearly ended in disaster for poor Cousin Thea.”

Fanny let out of a hoot of laughter at the memory. “Disaster? I’d say it was a hugely successful outcome, though not for dreadful old Aunt Brightwell, who looked likely to go to the moon in that hot-air balloon, leg-shackled to Cousin George, as a result of brother Bertram’s wrong-footedness!” With a flick of her flounced skirts, she crossed the room to her husband and draped herself across his lap, curling a languid arm about his neck and bringing his head down for a kiss. “A good thing Bertram has gone to the West Indies to make his fortune instead of coming up with any hare-brained ideas with regard to Miss Montrose’s future,” she remarked when she came up for air.

Antoinette, who was used to such open affection in the drawing room they shared during her sister’s frequent visits to their country estate, plucked at the folds of her gown and ignored them. “Indeed! Cousin Thea owes her happiness to the clever Miss Brightwells and admits it too. She’d be handmaiden to Aunt Brightwell this very day, rubbing her swollen legs with smelly unguents, if we hadn’t intervened.”

“Precisely.” Fanny, now resting her cheek against her husband’s, sent Antoinette an approving look. “I’m glad you agree, sister, that the time has come to intervene now in the case of—as you so touchingly put it—poor Miss Montrose.” She rose, inclining her head as her husband gallantly caged her hand upon his coat sleeve and started to lead her to the door. “But first we must discover what painful event in Miss Montrose’s past has so reduced her to the cool, detached, and emotionless maiden prepared to sacrifice her future as Cousin George’s bride. If there is a gentleman who has broken her heart, we must find him, and he must be made to atone.”

Antoinette straightened, shaking her head. “Oh no, Fanny, you are entirely wrong if that is how you propose to secure Miss Montrose’s future, or at least prevent her from marrying Cousin George.”

Fanny stopped on the threshold and sent Antoinette an enquiring look. “Wrong? When have I ever been wrong? Fenton, can you think of an occasion when I’ve ever been wrong?”

“None springs to mind, my dear,” murmured her loyal husband with a lively look in his eyes. “Admittedly though, I wouldn’t test my memory overmuch at this very moment, considering I have a mind to my future prospects which, in this case, extends only so far as the end of the corridor and up the stairs.”

Antoinette ignored the banter in order to press her point. “No, Fanny! The past is the past and what is happening now is what’s important. We must encourage Mr Patmore to see Miss Montrose as more than a penniless young woman in need of a husband. We must make him fall in love with her.”

Fanny smiled as Fenton drew her into the shadows. “Too late, Antoinette dearest.” She gripped the door frame, putting her head around to deliver her final words. “I saw the very moment it happened. For both of them. They just don’t know it yet.”

Chapter 4

The following morning, Rufus Patmore had returned to the battlements of the ruined castle from where he’d observed the prior day’s dramatic events. A fresh wind sliced his cheeks, and as far as the eye could see, the picturesque grounds of the Earl of Quamby’s residence stretched from manicured park to patchwork fields, disappearing over the horizon.

All that interested him at this moment, however, was the couple strolling by the edge of the dam—the rather thuggish George Bramley, and the magnificent and fascinatingly self-effacing Miss Montrose.

Bramley, of course, wasn’t in his sights as anything other than the unworthy recipient of Miss Montrose’s charms.

Miss Montrose was an entirely different kettle of fish; a refreshing, delightful creature unlike any he’d met. At first, he’d mistaken her silence for timidity, but when she spoke, she seemed to say exactly what she thought. Refreshing, indeed! Yes, Miss Montrose was fearless, which she’d have to be if she were going to marry George Bramley.

He squinted, trying to see if there were any sign of discord. He’d heard rumours that Bramley was hedging his bets on the fact Miss Montrose’s ageing aunt was going to make her niece her beneficiary. Could Miss Montrose really have agreed to such a thing?

If she were penniless, she had nothing to lose…but what did she really know of Bramley?

The pair had stopped to feed the ducks. From this distance, they looked companionable, and he felt a strange note of disquiet tug inside his chest.

Did Miss Montrose have any idea of the kind of man she was marrying? Bramley was well known at the Club for qualifying for the status of gentleman only on account of his birthright.

Squinting a little more closely now that the couple was heading in his direction and he could make out Miss Montrose’s facial expressions, he tried to puzzle it out. Miss Montrose was not in love with Mr Bramley. He felt he could confidently make such an assertion.